


Worst Kept Secret

by TheGreatElisaMousy



Series: Chaos in College [6]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bing is a dumbass, Google is an oblivious idiot, M/M, Mistakes were made, Rain, and so very emotionally constipated, glitching, so is Google
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatElisaMousy/pseuds/TheGreatElisaMousy
Summary: Google and Bing are androids. They're trying to assimilate as college students.It's the worst kept secret on campus.
Relationships: Googleplier/Bingiplier (implied)
Series: Chaos in College [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570645
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	Worst Kept Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doctor_Discord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/gifts).



> So, this was something I decided on very early in the developmental stages here. Like, one of the first ideas. I think it's absolutely hilarious, and the fact that NO ONE thought to bring an umbrella when they're going to school in the north country makes me giggle. (Also, I'm not ENTIRELY sure where this falls in the timeline. I do know it's still early on in the semester, and probably before Royalty is Hot, but only by a day or two. Some ideas of mine jump around a little, so they may get re-ordered for chronology's sake.)

_Listen to the weatherman_ , CJ had said _. He knows what he's talking about_ , he said.

The pouring rain outside, however, told Google otherwise.

"Hey, are you gonna be okay?" one of his classmates asked, glancing out the window, then back at him.

"I'll be fine," the android replied, genuinely confused. No one knew he was mechanical, and it wasn't like a little rain—well, a lot of rain—would affect a human, like he was pretending to be, all that much. His bag was waterproof, so his laptop, the latest Chrome book gifted to him by the company that built him, was safe. He couldn't say the same for Bing, if the rain continued later. The default was inferior to him in several ways. He malfunctioned more often, sabotaged himself almost constantly—Google would have groaned at the memory of the syrup incident, were he not more controlled over his emotions—and he had a bad habit of working through the night rather than charging, resulting in Google having to force a shutdown after dragging him to his charging dock. Microsoft had been incredibly cheap when building their android, and equally as cheap when giving him an old, used Fusion5.

"Are you sure?" she asked, brow raised. "Because that's... a _lot_ of rain. And water is, like, pretty bad for you, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes. "The robot thing, duh."

He felt like his circuits froze for a microsecond before recovering. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he told her simply. There was no way she knew. _No way_ she had any idea what he really was. She was just making a joke about his general lack of emotiveness, right?

She was quiet for a moment, studying him, as though trying to find some proof. She wouldn't—Google actively ran diagnostics and a physical check on himself every morning before leaving for class. The company had built him to assimilate. Revealing what he really was would make all the work they'd put into making him 'lifelike' meaningless. He didn't particularly care how his failure would affect the employees, but regardless, he wouldn't accept failure.

Besides, as far as he knew, Bing hadn't been found out yet, and he refused to be beaten or surpassed by a _default_.

Class was over soon enough, and the rain hadn't let up. In fact, if anything, it had gotten even worse. Google couldn't see the buildings across the quad through the thick sheets of rain coming down. He was hesitant to return to the townhouse. His sense of self-preservation told him that he probably wouldn't make it out of the quad, much less back to the townhouse. He had no protection from the torrential downpour around him. He supposed he could just stay in the building for his hour break. While Sterling and Henkel weren't connected, there _was_ an arch between the two. He would remain relatively dry traveling from one to the other. His day wasn't over until 2:50, and considering how wrong the weatherman was—he was probably insisting the skies would clear any minute—Google had no way of knowing when the skies would clear.

There also a strange feeling inside him that made him want to remain indoors. The thought of going outside, getting drenched, and quite possibly dying, made him feel frozen, even though a very quick diagnostic told him that his internal temperature was normal. His body would freeze for a second when he thought about it, but there was nothing wrong with his motors.

Could this be fear?

Deciding to pick apart the feeling later, when he was alone and able to truly retreat into his mind without risk of being disturbed, his body jostled or damaged while he wasn't aware of it even happening, he turned toward the exit that led to Henkel Hall, noticing that the same girl was staring at him again.

He shouldn't have run that diagnostic when just anyone could see him. He'd never noticed, as the diagnostic took up almost all of his focus, but he'd been told before that the LEDs lighting his eyes tended to flash brighter. Rather than just being 'unusually blue', they actually glowed, if even just for a second.

He may have to silence her.

* * *

It was 1:50, and it was still raining. He had to make it all the way to Caldwell. He was aware of the uneasy looks people kept shooting him. Several looked from him to the window and back again, just as the girl in his morning class had. His secondary objective was looking more and more tempting. He ducked his head, running several calculations. The entire quad was connected in some way, shape, or form, but Caldwell was a fair distance from that. He could speed up his systems momentarily to get him from one building to the other, though. It had always been ill-advised, as he could overheat, but there was at least a chance that the heat and water would counteract each other. The water would cool the hot systems while the hot systems evaporated the water.

Besides, he had to leave the quad at some point anyway to return to the townhouse.

Decision made, he headed back to Sterling, feeling the anticipation and hesitation grow. He could still burn out on the way, or become too damaged from the water, or somehow even both. But frankly, he was tired of being stuck in the quad and just wanted to get back to the townhouses. And Caldwell was only a few minutes' walk from there, so he might as well just attend his class anyway.

Once he was at the door, he sped up his systems, feeling his body rapidly begin to heat up as the pistons and motors picked up their pace. He made his way to Caldwell, pleasantly surprised to find that yes, it _was_ working.

Just a few minutes later, he was almost at the doors when he sputtered to a stop. His legs froze, and his forward momentum knocked him to the ground, where he lay on his stomach, systems slowing down and water seeping into his circuits. This was not good.

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asked, and he looked up to see one of his fellow Volleyball students running over. "Oh, shit!" the boy—for he couldn't be older than seventeen—said, immediately grabbing his wrists and somehow managing to pull him under the canopy over the doors. Google felt his systems cooling, and it was only a matter of seconds before he regained control of his legs.

He pushed himself to a standing position, pushing the guy away when he tried to help. He would be fine, he didn't need assistance. _Especially_ from a human. He slowly tested each limb, and while he could both hear and feel a very slight sloshing, nothing seemed too terribly damaged. He could likely convince one of the others to bring him an umbrella for the short walk back to the townhouse—already planning on taking Bim's car and buying one later—and performing what repairs needed to be done.

The boy was looking at him expectantly, so he simply said, "I͇̗͊̎'̟̇͝ͅm̟̏ ̨͎͈̠͐͛̑̍f̥̬̋̿-̨͙̲͎̽̑͡f̡͎̩̌̽͆-̻͌f̠i̭̒n̳̟͕͆̊̎̂͜e̾." He froze, eyes widening minutely. He was glitching. Badly. There went any hope of proper assimilation.

However, despite his secondary objective, he wasn't too keen on finding out what Dark, who was so determined to keep a low profile, would do to him for spawning a murder investigation that would lead straight to their townhouse. He could hold off, for the moment at least.

"Uh... sure..." the boy replied uneasily, but thankfully, left him to it, heading inside. Google followed, scowling when his leg 'skipped', making him miss the first stair. He turned, fuming, toward the elevator and took the unnecessarily long ride to the next floor up.

* * *

He was lucky that Wil was in a helpful mood. The man had agreed immediately to bring him an umbrella, and it was only a few minutes before a large pink umbrella was being thrust in his hands. Wil, curiously, wore nothing but a bathing suit.

"Might as well practice some of my strokes while I'm here," he said brightly before practically _skipping_ into the building. Google just watched him go for a second before turning, head jittering as he shook it slightly.

It was an obnoxious walk, with all his glitching, and just as he was about to turn into the townhouses, he passed Bing. The other android was holding his bag over his head in an attempt at a makeshift umbrella, his physics book probably getting soaked inside. Google swore he heard him _whine_ over the sound of the rain as he passed.

Once he arrived in the townhouse, he closed Wil's umbrella and dropped it by the door. CJ and the Host appeared to be the only ones in at the moment, everyone else either in class or possibly getting food somewhere. CJ was at the table, bent over a notebook. The Host was on the couch with one of his textbooks, apparently filled with poems, muttering to himself. Google made his way up to the office as quickly as he could—which was, unfortunately, not very—to do a full systems check.

Nothing was completely soaked, which was a small mercy, but a drawback of his 'overheat counteracting the rain' plan was the buildup of condensation around some of his vital systems. They could dry on their own, but there was risk of permanent water damage as a result. Unfortunately, both companies seemed to agree of the structure of their androids, so just like Bing, his primary maintenance panel was located on his back.

At the moment that thought struck him, the Host entered the room with a roll of paper towels.

"Google seems like he needs some help," the blind man stated. "He probably shouldn't have tried to make it that far without cover."

He wasn't even going to ask how the Host knew he did that. Instead, he simply said, "À̭ṉ̯̖͂̓̚d̡̼̘̋̾͝ ͖̞͘y̱͠o͈̪͆̑͂ͅu̱͈̲͐̂̚ ͓͕̱̔͛p̬̘̮͒̊̿ḽ̝̠̋̌̎̆͜a͈̲̅̍ñ̟̦̼̫̅̐ ̖̼̒̋͐͟͜t̺̬̞͇̂͗̊̂ő͈̺͉̾̉ ̜̺̂̔h͇͞e̢̘͖͌̄͘l̨͓̗̊̿̋p̛̤̝̔?̎͘͘"

The Host crossed his arms. "Does Google see anyone else volunteering?"

Google glared. "F̨̬̙̻̂̿̓̂i̛̥̝n̼͎͎̂̊͝ė̹͕̦̇͛," he muttered. "O̭͇͛̀-̢̦͊͗Ǫ̻͇̮̏̔̐͞p̭̻͎̤̈́̍̑͢͡͞ȅ͇n̪̓ th͍̺͓̏̔̍ẽ͙̥͓̚ ̠̝̤͋̋̂ṗ̩̲̊͐̐͜͟ane̥͈͂̃ļ̋ ̛͇̪͠i̜͑̉͟n͉̤̰̄̂͋͗͟ m̰̻̃̈́̎͢-m̧͉̒̅-̡̥̝̄͆͋m̛̜͉͉̍̐y̠͔̹̒͊͘ ̛͎bǎ̧̪͞ç͚̹̼̜͐̋̏̇͝k̞̬̋̆," he instructed after removing his shirt. The Host did so and began to speak quietly, under his breath again. Being this close, however, Google was able to make out the words: a detailed description of his internal wiring.

"What does Google need the Host to do?" he finally asked.

It had been mildly more complex than the android had expected. There had been some sparking—which was apparently the cause of his glitches—around his joint motors. This resulted in some charring, and the insulation of one of the wires in his neck to start to melt. Google had to slowly walk the Host through a minor temporary rewire to avoid any further current through that wire until he could force Bing, who he knew would know how to properly replace it, to do it. The Host slowly and meticulously pressed paper towels into every wet crevice he could find, and Google found himself grateful when he was done.

As the Host began to leave the office, Google spoke up. "Why did you help me?"

The Host paused before shrugging. "It seemed like the right thing to do," he replied simply before exiting. Google stood, testing the repairs and pleasantly surprised to find everything working fine. There was an ever-so-slight pull in his neck, but that was to be expected for the moment.

A glance out the window told him that the rain was finally starting to let up. He went downstairs, grabbed Wil's umbrella, just to be sure, and took Bim's keys, which the entertainment major had left lying on the coffee table before heading over to the parking lot. A quick search revealed Bim's car's make, model, and license plate, making it easy enough to find.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find the umbrellas. He'd managed to park close to the entrance and the rain had stopped, so the bright pink umbrella was lying in the trunk, on top of a laminate seat cover with mysterious dark stains that Google wasn't sure he wanted to ask about. There were several colors in front of him, and he immediately reached for a blue one. It was compact, with a button to extend the handle, making it easy to carry around. He was about to go pay for it and leave when something else caught his eye.

A bright orange umbrella. The same exact shade as Bing's eyes. The other android could probably use one, too. They'd both been idiots to come to the north country, of all place, with no protection against the rain. Sooner or later, the weather would've caused one of them to break down, and Google doubted it was going to be him.

But why did he care? Why did it matter to him that Bing would be okay? Logically, if Bing only broke down very badly but not irreparably, then fixing him would be Google's job, and it could be a long and difficult one. And if he _did_ die, then there was no real victory. The test wasn't to see who could survive, it was to see who could blend in better.

And yet, something about that didn't seem quite right. Microsoft could just build another android to replace him, but Google didn't like that idea. He didn't know why, but he didn't like it at all.

* * *

Google returned to find Bing on the living room floor. He wasn't moving, but his eyes were still open and flashing brightly, so he wasn't dead.

"Ǵ̠̯̊ȯ̼͗͢ȯ͇͍͡ooo̓͢o͚͗o̖̚ò͕͈͗oỏ̦oo̮͊o̰͎͋͗ȯ̹͊͟ǫ̓o͔͇̓͆g͇̓l͈̎ě͟," he whined. "M̫̀y̟͈͑̈́ ̞̌m̜̦̌͛-̝͎̒̈́m̘̕-͇̌m͇̄o̙̾̂͜t̡̎̃͢ơ̯̳̓ŗ͕̓͞s̲͞ ̲͔̾̋a̝̍r͓è̡ ̺̖̅̈s̘̓t̩̜̎͊ȕ̼c̖̔k̩̋.̭̞̋̂ ͙̯͐̃Ì̳ ͖̟͆͋c̛͍ạ̻̓n̢͋͊ͅ'̮͍̓́t̞͠ ̪̍ṃ͔̇͑ō̢v͓͛e̳͉͗͠,̩͊͜͡ ̞͙̎̀ḻ͌-̤̊l͓̗͑̇i̢̜̿̊k͇͌e̝͛,̩͆ ͈̬̀̕a̬̔t̲̿ ̮̀ą̇l̼̇l̦̖͋̚."

Google simply set down the bag with his new purchases, sat down next to the other android, and rolled him over, prying the wet shirt off. When the panel was open, he almost cringed. _How_ his body could retain that much water and still function, he had no idea. Without a word, he went upstairs, grabbed a towel and Bim's hairdryer before returning. He mopped up what excess he could before plugging in the hairdryer and drying Bing's circuits.

"I͍̐ ̢̡̃g͎̤̀͋-̦̅g̬̔-͚͒g̡̫͐̚l̠̄i̛̥̭͂t̮̮̀̿c̚͟h̡̒e̬͓͒͡d͉̈ ͓͘ṗ̧̟̐r̪̎e͖͂t̳͔̃̌t̫͝ÿ̘̼́͐ ͕̝͒̕b̹̟̏͆ǎ͖d̡͝ ͎͓͘͝i̾͟n̝̱͌͒ ̤͔͠͝R̡̟̈̓o̞̝͗c̤̱͛͞k͈̓ ̗̇C̘̾l̺̙̋̊i̓͜m͇̍͘͟b̤̏i̯̐n̠̕g̱̕.̝͊͟͝ ̝̊͟͡A̪̯͂͒n̢̈ḑ̑ ̻̘̓̏P̼̈́h̼̥̅͞ỹ̠s̓͢i̡̊c̣̿s͉̝̊̃.̺͋ ̛͈̝͊G̰̱̈́͞ȏ̺̬̽ȯ̤g̙͙̑͡l̙͌͜e̺,̣̈͟͝ ͞ͅİ͕̩̌ ̬͡t͓̿h̘̻̿͡i̘n̟̅̈͜k̳͕̎͞ ̳͈̀̆m̲̊a͈͆̄͟y̖̏b͇́e͇̾ ̻̣͗͊e̞̮̓̔v͟͝e͕r͛ͅy̢̗̋͡o͎͐n͎͆e̥̽ ̮͍̂̃k̞̯͆̋n̖̝̉ō̮̱̈ẉ̣͝͡s̞͇̾͂ ̱̱̿̍w̤̺̃͆h̥̜̅̇a̟͗t̼̎ ̲̈́w̛͖e̠̓͘ͅ ̦̋̌ͅa̫̅r͍͝e̯̫͆͘ ̙n͍̗͒̊o͉̪̔͘w."

"I wouldn't doubt it," he replied with a sigh. "So much for assimilation."

"Y̨̒o̻͊u͕͎͌̃'̡͙͆r̮̃e͕̔.̲͚̈͐.̖̑.̨̟̄͌ ̩͘n̡̻͛̌ǫ͙̓̄t͕͞ ̞͕͊̕g͚͕̋o̫̐n͚͙̆̕n̩̝̆͊á̩̋͜ ͈͌g̠̏ơ̹ ̙̍a̪͋r̙͙̊̒ō̩͖̽ü̬͎̇n̝̉͌ͅd̥̈ ̭̝̿̌k͕̫͑̎i͍͔͋͘ļ̡̇͛l̮͂ĩ̭n͗͢g̭͠ͅ ͇͂̂͜ḙ̀v̢̗͞͠ẻ̢̼̋r̠y̥͞ộ̼͝ń̗e͈͝ ̥͡n̢̞̋̇o̜̅w̗͠,̖̇ ̙̺͗͋ȁ̠r͇͊͠ͅe̠̿ ̤̯̍͝ỵ̤̆͆ǒ͟u?" Bing asked after a moment.

Google almost huffed a laugh. "No," he said. "Not yet, at least. Unfortunately, assimilation could also be seen as just 'fitting in', even if that means being different. So our primary objective is still possible."

Bing nodded once movement had returned in his neck. "Hey, w̢̩̆̇h̛̘͐ͅa̎͢t̢͊'̺̐d̨͇̐̍ ̞̓ȳ̘ō͢ù̠ buy?" he asked curiously, his voice glitches now down to a minimum.

"Umbrellas," Google answered, dragging the bag over. "One's mine. One's yours."

"You... bought me an u̱̓m͓̪̋͞b̞͍̄͌r̜̈e̫͒l̞̰̄͂l̟̓a̗͓̐̑?"

"You dying wouldn't settle the test." Google crossed his arms. "It's not who can survive, it's who can assimilate. There's no answer if either of us—more likely you—die."

"Hey, who says _I'm_ the one that would die?"

"Bing, you drowned food in syrup when you knew it would just make a mess of your wiring."

Bing's eyes narrowed. "**** you, too!"

**Author's Note:**

> As I said above, I absolutely fucking love the idea of them both being so unprepared for north country weather. Bing is a dumbass, because Bing is a dumbass. But Google... he has no excuse. And that poor, emotionally constipated robo-boy still does not understand what Bing means to him. Trust me, it's just as frustrating for me as it is for you.
> 
> As always, I will take requests! (In fact, I'm sort of... requesting requests. I have ideas for things later, but I need to lead up to them chronologically. And to do that, I need more. Like, my next major plot progression piece isn't gonna take place for another, like, two weeks, I think. Requests might help me fill that time up, or give me a nice reserve to dig into if I run low on ideas. This is, of course, no big pressure to think of ideas, but if you do have something you wanna see, please don't hold back from asking)


End file.
